You know what? I am tired of having to moderate my feelings. Fuck that! There exists people who can blow up me and my family with just a thought? And I have to be sensitive to their feelings? I gotta make sure to not offend him?


I don't think so. I don't care if his royal highness excellency supreme puba kiss my ass-ness President Nik Brandon says so.

I say yes!!!!! Bring on the Atharim!!!!

It's humans first. Don't be a traitor.

Get you priorities in place, people!!!!

----AtharimFan#1


Edited by Connor Kent, Jun 26 2016, 12:45 PM.

In the 6th Age:

He was born as Priam, a solid man with simple needs. The god-wars had raged for decades, with the people in the large cities bearing the brunt of the wars. Society in those cities was chaotic and stability broke down. But the back-waters of the world still had some semblance of peace as the war had not yet fully intruded on their lives. Priam was a son with an ancient lineage, the “Remnant”, a once proud and honored people that still maintained their warrior tradition. Not much remained of their memory beyond the distant stories of being the made by the first man Iasan; that they were Drakonodon, “Teeth of the Dragon”; the belief that one day they would be needed again.

Such stories heartened and defined them as they lived simple lives. Priam married Thetis. But they remained childless as the years pressed on. For 10 years, he and his wife along with father and mother and brothers and sisters worked together to survive on their rocky and hilly land, pastoral and peaceful but for the occasional squabble or raid from the ever wandering nomadic peoples.

It was a hard but satisfying life.

And then the god-wars forced their way into their lives. As Titan and Olympian fought and died and killed, one group fled to those same backwaters. Their god-powered transport was damaged and crashed near the home of Priam, killing almost everyone on-board.

Priam made his way to the wreckage and discovered an infant, sheltered in the arms of his dead mother. The child had the Olympian thunderbolt marked on the back of his head=, One of the god-children, born of god-parents and surely destined for god-hood himself. The cries of the child stirred something in Priam. His own wife, Thetis, had finally become pregnant after years of trying, but she had lost the child just a few days ago and was deeply grieved. He took the child home and showed him to her. Nothing could replace their dear baby. But this child had no mother or father. It would die without them. They opened their hearts to the baby and named him Achilles. He became their son, as much their flesh as any that might have been born of Thetis’ body. As long as his head was never shaved, no one would ever know the truth. Not long afterwards, Thetis again became pregnant and had a second son, Iphicles. This child too was loved and both boys never knew they weren’t fleshly brothers, with all the affection and squabbles that brothers have.

But Priam and Thetis knew that Achilles would need them as he grew older. They were ever vigilant to teach their special son compassion and justice now, while he was young.

*


Iphicles was crying while Mama comforted him. Achilles had pushed him down and was now looking defiantly at Papa, who had demanded an explanation.

“He broke my soldier! The one you made for me!”

“And?,” Papa said, upset. “Does that mean you can push him down for that?”

“But he broke it! I told him not to touch it. Instead he took it and broke it!” Achilles glared at his brother. “He did it on purpose!”

Papa spoke calmly. “Do you think he really wanted to break your toy?”

Achilles knew that Papa had him there, but he was unwilling to back down. “It doesn’t matter. I can be mad at him for breaking it.”

“Oh? And what about pushing him? Is it alright to hurt someone if they make you mad?”

Achilles thought about that. But then he saw his broken soldier. Papa had made it for him. It was special. He got angrier as he thought about his Papa making it for him and then Iphicles taking it when he told him not to and breaking it. “Yes! He deserved it!”

Papa quickly stood up to his full height. Suddenly, Achilles felt very, very small. He was big for 7, but next to Papa, he was tiny, with his gigantic muscles and back from working the fields. Papa’s face looked mad and his voice became so quiet it was scary. “And so when I get angry with you for not doing your chores, does that mean I can push you down?” Papa hadn’t moved, but suddenly Achilles felt scared looking up at him.

And then Papa knelt down and gently took Achilles’ shoulders in his big hands. His face wasn’t scary anymore and his voice was nice. It was low and deep, but that made Achilles feel safe. “Son, being bigger or stronger doesn’t mean you get to hurt someone whenever you want.”

Achilles looked down. Papa is bigger than me, but never hurt me, even when he got mad. He wasn’t angry at Iphicles anymore. Instead, he heard his little brother crying and apologizing and it made him sad. He started to cry. Papa took him into his arms, against his chest. Achilles felt warm and safe there. And ashamed. “I’m so sorry Papa.” He looked at his little brother, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to break it, Achilles,” Iphicles said through his tears.

He felt bad he had hurt Iphicles. As much as he wanted to stay on his father's arms, he pulled away from Papa and went to hug him. “I’m sorry Iphicles! I know you didn’t mean it. It was an accident”, he said. He saw how little his brother, only 5, was compared to him. Just like me and Papa. He looked at his Papa and saw him smiling. It made him feel good inside.

Papa came over to them and pulled Mama to them until they were all sitting next to each and hugging or holding hands. “Son, we will always be bigger than some people and smaller than others.” Achilles tried to imagine Papa being smaller than someone else. It was hard. Well, some of his uncles were taller than Papa, but they didn’t actually seem bigger. “It doesn’t matter, though. We protect people, Son. We are protectors.” Papa looked him directly in the eye and his voice was strong, but not mad. “Especially, Achilles, especially we protect those smaller or weaker than us. We are not bullies. So you protect your little brother.”

Achilles felt those words go into him. I am a protector. I will protect Iphicles…and all the other kids too.

Papa then smiled at him. Iphicles had stopped crying too. “Remember who we are, my sons. Drakonodon. ‘Teeth of the Dragon.’”

Achilles fought a smile. He loved that story. “Papa, will you tell us about when Iasan made the Drakonodon and killed the serpent Ydra?”

Papa smiled. “Ok.” Papa let go and sat back, crossing his legs. Mama was next to him. He looked from Achilles to Iphicles and back.

“Long ago, long before the Titans or the Olympians or any other gods, there was Earth and Sky. Sky was young and the new Light streamed from the infant Sun. Mist rose from the earth as the Light touched the water, creating light and dark clouds, pushing and pulling and swirling into each other. Sound was new and fresh and moved like liquid throughout the new-formed Earth. It was perfect.

Then, among the dark clouds, a darkness appeared- the seed of chaos. It was just a pinpoint of darkness, but it sucked in the dark-clouds. The clouds spun as they went into the darkness. The darkness rained black oil and it fell to Earth, burning her. She groaned and heaved as the oil cut her.

But the white clouds spun about themselves too, sucking in the Light of the Sun. Those clouds became one brightly shining ball of Light. And then the ball became a crystal egg- blazing with the light- and it floated to the ground. Earth opened herself and a mountain in the shape of an open hand emerged from its depths to gently cradle the egg of light.

And the egg cracked and the light within broke free. It took the shape of a man, strong as crystal and bright as the sun. Light shone from his face and chest, and he wore lightning on his belt. In his hands he wielded a great sword with which to fight the Chaos.

At the very same time, the black ball too had become an egg, lighting of black licking about its surface. And then it too cracked- sickly green light oozing from the cracks. It split open, the shell fragments falling slowly like leaves to the ground. Out slithered Ydra, the beast of the darkness. Ydra’s black eyelids opened and green fires blazed behind those eyes. Ydra came forth covered in scales that dripped black oil. Small heads sprouted from Ydra, growing until there were 13, sitting atop long slender scaly necks.

Iasan strode forth, his crystal sword blazing in his hand. He struck at the closest head and the neck sizzled as the sword cut through it. The head dropped to the ground and melted. Three times Iasan ducked the hissing heads and struck, until three heads littered the ground. But as Iasan severed that third one, one of the other heads bit into his side and tore a chunk of his flesh. Ydra seemed to grow from the meat in its teeth. Earth screamed and her mountains were shaken. Sky darkened until the star shapes could be seen, Eagle, Bear, and the Great Dragon. And then a new head burst forth from each severed neck, growing larger and larger.

Iasan cried out in pain and fell back, weakened, as blood and water spilled out from his side and flowed onto the ground forming a pool. Iasan looked up at Sky and saw the Great Dragon’s stars twinkling. Sky, wanting to come to his aid, bent himself down until Iasan could touch the great blackness of the vault. Iasan snatched 12 teeth from the Great Dragon’s mouth. The stars burned and smoked in his hand and he plunged them into the pool of his blood and water. The stars sizzled and then began to grow, becoming men.

Each man was wreathed in dark shadow like leaves, eyes sparkling in the glow of their crystal spears. They stood and helped Iasan up. Looking at them, Iasan smiled grimly, determined, and turned back to Ydra. He lifted his sword and suddenly it was pure light. Iasan ran toward Ydra, cutting off each head in turn. And behind him followed the Teeth of the Dragon made flesh. As soon as each head was lopped off, one of the men shoved his glowing spear into the neck. The spear head blazed and burned and no new heads grew.

Finally, Iasan stood face to face with Ydra. He grabbed Ydra’s tail with his right hand and spun him about. Then he hurled Ydra out away from Earth. Sky cried as Ydra pierced him and passed through him, off into the unknown.

Then, spent, Iasan collapsed, blood continuing to flow from his side. Around him stood the Teeth of the Dragon, the Drakonodon. “Hear me, my people! I die, but you will live. From my body will come the nations and races of men. I charge you Teeth of the Dragon, I charge you to watch over them and protect them.”

Iasan’s head then fell back and he died. The hand that had held the stars had turned black. It melted an opening into Earth. The other hand, white as bone, also melted and burned another opening into Earth. And out of those openings men and women came forth. These were the first gods to walk the earth.

Iasan’s legs melted and there grew from his right leg a large man clad in animal skin, thunderbolt in his hand, its light reflecting in his eyes: Perkwunos the Striker, The Provider. And from his left leg grew another man clad in robes, holding bone dice in his right hand and scales in his left hand: Kmir the judge.

Finally, Iasan’s feet melted, and from each toe came a different man and woman, all the ten nations of mankind.

Thus there came from Iaman all the people of Earth: the gods who took the power of Iaman as their own, the Thunderer under whose rains we shelter and live, the Chooser who gives us what is unknown in life. And finally, my sons, the Drakonodon. We are the last remnant of those people. We are all that is left of the Dragon’s Teeth.
But we remember our charge.”

Thetis, Achilles and Iphicles repeated after him. “We remember our charge.”

*

Achilles took his Father’s instruction to heart. Never again did he lash out in anger. Instead, when he saw injustice, he acted. Together, he and Iphicles his brother became known as the Sons of Thunder for their fearless exploits. As the god-wars grew in scope, so too did their back-water villages grow. People flocked to their region, running, fleeing, escaping, hoping to find refuge and peace. Other villages and cities sometimes attacked and Achilles and Iphicles joined their father in the defense of the city. Eventually, the god-wars themselves came, causing pain and ruin and devastation. Achilles had seen the misery written in blood that they had caused, and his hatred of them grew.

During one bloody attack, Achilles saw his brother Iphicles struck down by a god as he fought another god, head shaved so the lightning bolt on the back of his skull gleamed in the light. At that moment, in a fit of rage at seeing his brother go down, Achilles channeled for the first time, killing both gods instantly. He was able to help his brother to safety.


Afterwards he confronted his father about what had happened and Priam reluctantly told him the truth of his origins. He told him of the markings on the back of his skill that was hidden by his hair. Achilles was hurt and scared.
*

Achilles felt at the back of his head, trying to sense the markings Mother and Father said were there, trying to see if he felt any difference, something that set him apart. He felt like his was drowning, like the time he had been in the ocean and had been pulled under by a current. He couldn’t breathe. His foundation was his family, his father and mother, his brother. And now, I find out that Father isn’t my….He rejected that thought violently. What am I?

“Son, I know this is so hard.” Priam’s eyes glistened with tears. “But we love you so very much. Nothing has changed for us.”

“Nothing??!!” The thought made him explode. “How can you say that Father? Nothing has changed? Everything has changed!” He felt at the back of his head again. “All my life you told me I was your son.”

“You are my son!,” Priam tried to say, but Achilles went on.

“You taught me how to be a good man. And now I find out…now I learn I’m one of them? I’ve hated them all my life. You taught me that. I’ve seen the refugees, the ones who escaped.” The memories came to him. A woman in tattered and burned clothing, eyes red-rimmed with tears, streaks of white on her soot-stained face. She stumbled along the road, almost ready to collapse. In her arms she carried a child, looking maybe like he was three. He had been burned horribly when a stray fireball from one of the gods struck the house. One of his eyes was milky white, with the skin fissured and red and black all over his face, his ears melted into twisted lumps. He wasn’t moving. They had tried to help him, but the boy was dead.
That winter the woman threw herself into the river and drowned.

A small girl found in the woods, scared and skittish, bony arms and ribs visible thrown torn clothing, cuts and scrapes on her young body. How long had been hiding? He heard of the disappeared girls, taken from their homes to the houses of the gods, to be used and traded. An ocean of people’s pain that meant nothing to them. And Iphicles, body broken and blood pumping from wounds made by jagged wood fragments jutting from stomach and neck. Fear and revulsion welled up inside him. “And I am one of them?!” He was angry and terrified. “I have this…this power. Will I change too?” He whispered “Is that what I will become?”

Priam took him by his shoulders, squeezing hard with his hands. “You listen to me son. Listen! Look at me!” Reluctantly, Achilles looked him in the eyes. They were hard and clear and his face was as fierce as he had ever seen. “I am your father! I raised you. And I know you better than anyone!”

Achilles felt those words go into him. They pierced his heart. They were something to hold onto. “Son, you are going to be something in this world. I don’t know what. But I believe in you. Your mother believes in you. Iphicles believes you. You are going to inspire goodness and hope in others. That I do know.” He felt his father’s sincerity. He believes in me! It was as simple as that. Father believed in him. Father trusted him. He clung to that anchor.

*

From that point on, after surviving the sickness, Achilles used his power and worked surreptitiously to sabotage the gods as they and their wars grew in the area. He and his father and brother organized others to carry on the work underground.

At one point, Achilles was discovered and had to flee, eventually making his way to Asia Minor. There he came across another god, Enki, and discovered that he wasn’t alone in not letting his ability to call on the power make him evil. They became close friends. As they traveled and helped people, they eventually met others like them- Prometheus, Tammuz, and Utnapishtim. After enough time had gone by, they returned to Achilles' home, only to discover that Priam and Iphicles had been killed by the gods during their underground activity. The death cut Achilles to his heart and he wanted revenge.

But his father’s words stayed with him. “You are my son. I believe in you.” He knew he had to find a way to help the people stand against the gods, especially the Drakonodon remnant, to stop them once and for all. And so rebellion continued to spread, as more and more people took up anything they could find. Even gods who had not been evil, or those that sought redemption, such as Hektor, joined their cause, making the rebellions more successful.

They learned of a weapons facility at Troy, run by the eminent god-scientist Helen, and decided to get inside and steal anything the rebellion could use, or failing that, to destroy the place. Using an inverted weave of invisibility, Achilles and many of his companions hid inside a materials shipment and were able to sneak in. Unknown to him, though, Hektor had been a spy for the Olympians and alerted the gods. Achilles was able to kill Hektor, though, and they escaped with losses. Achilles redoubled his efforts and soon conducted successful raids on other facilities. These activities inspired both humans and those gods that chose to help them in other regions of the earth, finally helping to tip the balance in the favor of mankind.


Eventually, though, Achilles was killed when a mortal, Paris, thinking him to be just like the other Olympians gods, shot him from ambush with a weapon.


Edited by Connor Kent, Jun 23 2016, 09:52 PM.

Now, this is a story all about how
My life got flipped-turned upside down

The world just went to hell in a hand basket. The Ascendancy had just declared magic a real honest-to-god thing. Gods were real. Magic was real. And to top it off he told the world of the men and women hunting these poor unfortunate - or fortunate depending on how you looked at it - souls.

Aria knew that Martin would send her out - send her after Ascendancy to gain the intelligence he could by her death. But what Borovsky didn't know was that she also now worked for the man she was supposed to kill. Her report from Siberia had omitted the one very thing she'd found when she went - the man himself.

She'd killed for him. Aria had killed him because she could be cause she had to for the survivablity of her own life. Lucas was dead. Her life was falling apart. Her father's death had caused even more of a shit storm. More alliances, more problems. And for the first time in her life she had someone to count on - except he wasn't around. But she agreed they needed time apart. Nox's realization and the shit storm they had landed in was only getting worse and worse with each passing day.

Aria missed the haunting comfort of people around her. Hatred welled up inside. Aria didn't want to be normal. But she had to set her own problems aside. Right now, there was a side too choose. And Aria knew that choosing the Atharim was going to get her killed. Life was important to her, even with Lucas dead - she didn't want to die. Not because of some stupid crusade that she didn't really believe in. Ascendancy had done nothing wrong in her eyes. His death was pointless.

So Aria went to the place at the specified time and waited for her contacts to arrive. It was where she'd been hooded before, where she'd been let go with a wallet to contact whatever handler she had in this new world of hers.

It came to no surprise they put a black bag over her head and walked her through so many places that she had no idea which way was left or right. And Aria had tried to figure it all out. But they were good at their job, and Aria was without her own senses. There was nothing but her own anxiety inside.

When they finally removed the hood Aria found herself in a room much like the one she had been in the last time she'd seen the Ascendancy except this time she wasn't cuffed to the table - so there was that amount of trust for now. Aria had no real choice but to wait. Someone would come, but Aria hoped it would be Ascendancy himself. She prayed it wasn't Michael Vellas - he couldn't do much for Nox except bring him down to the dungeon's here and he certainly couldn't help with whatever plan of attack on the Ascendancy's own life to save both their skins and bring down the Atharim. Aria knew in that moment that the prophecy she'd felt only a short few months ago was not about the end of the world - but an end to the Atharim.

Edited by Aria, Jun 23 2016, 02:30 PM.

Walking the short distance to the East wing double doors, he knocks on them. Chuckling at knocking on his own homes doors, a deal is a deal and from now on, this is HER side of the home, no longer his.

He waits:

<small>[[this comes from the Wiki and was a collaboration between Ivan and Zoya. Amana was reborn as Zoya Bocharov and Viracocha as Ivan Sarkozy]]</small>

Meso-America

Many of the gods of Meso-America made the lives of their people miserable. Aside from the usual domination and exploitation, some of the Mayan Lords of the Underworld, called Xibalba, would cruelly challenge the people to Ollamaliztli, the Meso-American ballgame. The game was difficult and the stakes high. The team that lost the game also lost their heads. And yet players had no choice to do their best against beings for whom the 9 pound rubber ball moved through the air as if by magic. One-Death and Seven-Death, in particular, were especially avid players and enjoyed victory after victory.The other Mayan Lords had their own fun playing “tricks” on people.

South America


In South America, though, some of the gods were much more benevolent. Amana, in particular, was a mysterious goddess who inhabited the river valleys of Venezuela. She deeply cared for her people and made sure they were safe from outside threats. Among her tools was an ancient object she'd discovered, an artifact that could be activated by her power. It subtly shifted the region it was in so that it was no longer exposed to outsiders. It was a hidden realm.

Gradually the villages she watched over became the stuff of legend. A person could walk along the river and catch partial glimpses of homes and smoke, but when approached, there would be nothing there. Other travelers told of taking a particular path and suddenly finding the jungle strangely different. One could walk for hours and seem only to move a short distance. Whenever such travelers inevitably turned back to leave that bewitched place, it seemed like almost immediately they were back in their normal forest where they had begun their journey. But the strangest thing of all was that though some claimed to have only walked for a short time of minutes or hours, when they came out they found that days or weeks had passed. Legends grew about these lands and the goddess who watched over them.

Further southwest lay the mighty Inca empire, founded and ruled over by Viracocha. Viracocha had been born in a tiny village by the sea. He taught his people to domesticate the native alpaca and to spin their wool into fibers. He taught them the quipu, the corded strings to record the stories of his people. He showed them the potatoes and oca and how to store these to get them through the lean times. But in all this time, Viracocha never took a mate.

That continued to be true for many years until one day Viracocha himself was on a trip through Venezuela's river valleys and came upon that enchanted jungle. As he walked up the river he began to feel to the strange effects. He refused to leave, though, wanting to understand this strange phenomenon. He pressed on until at last he came to a village. The people were frightened. They had seen no outsiders in centuries. Runners were sent and beautiful Amana showed herself to him. She was stronger than he was and took him her captive. She wanted to learn what threat he represented to her people. His interrogation became conversation as the weeks went by. And gradually Viracocha become her captive no longer, but rather her friend and then her lover.

They were bonded to each other in the power and in ceremony, their minds and hearts merging into a unity neither thought possible. They were both happy. And yet Viracocha had been gone for what seemed years to his own people. He keenly felt his responsibility until finally he knew he could stay no longer. However, he persuaded Amana to come with him to his own kingdom. When they returned together to the Inca heartland, she was hailed as Mama Qucha, goddess of the sea.

Amana missed the quiet rivers of her home, but found some solace in the endless and peaceful waves of the sea and in her dear Viracocha. Eventually, she bore two sons, Tamusi and Tamula. They were happy. But, as time went by, Amana too felt her people's need. She could not abandon them simply for her own happiness' sake. Painful as it was, she decided to return home, taking their two sons. She would spend part of the year watching over her lands, and part of the year with Viracocha; a painful arrangement for them both. For Viracocha, those months she spent at her home amounted to years without her and his sons. But they were gods, and their responsibilities were more important than their needs. It was enough that they had the time together they did.

Many of the gods of South America were similar to Amana and Viracocha. These watched over their people, or at least, did not torment them; and so, the people were content.


The Lords of Xibalba and Civil War


If it were not for the Lords of Xibalba and a foolish game, things would have stayed that way. One-Death and Seven-Death had become jealous of the growing influence of One-Hunahpu and Seven-Hunahpu. These younger gods were powerful and discovered many new uses of the power. They even walked the land of Xibalba, the Underworld itself, the world of dreams. and which the Lords of Xibalba claimed as their own. Many battles in that world were fought and the people lived nightmares as they slept, some never to awake. Finally, One Death and Seven Death challenged One Hunahpu and Seven Hunahpu to the ballgame with their lives as the prize. With the secret aid of Seven Macaw, One Death and Seven Death defeated the two gods and their heads were taken in victory.

But One Hunahpu had two sons, Xblanque (“Jaguar Sun”) and Hunahpu. These gods were powerful, having been taught all they knew by their father and uncle, and they wanted revenge. They rallied many other younger gods to their sides. The Age of the Lords of Xibalba and the other older gods was over. It was time for a newer generation to rule. The ensuing war spread from Xibalba into the real world and the land grew bloody as it was wracked by battles. The chaos spread across Meso-America, as Aztec and Tlaxacalan gods followed the Mayan rift and split along lines of age, gender, or anything else that hid resentment and envy, hatred and lust. Thus, fire spread across Meso-America.


Civil War in South America


The gods of South America looked uneasily at the chaos to the north. Refugees poured across the isthmus into their lands, seeking shelter and relief. Amana and her sons were with Viracocha at the time when the news of the refugees reached them. Amana, along with Tamusi and Tumula, immediately began their journey home, to protect her homeland. Viracocha could not leave his people undefended, however, and stayed behind.

He attempted to rally the other South American gods to take preemptive steps to keep the chaos from spreading. But he did not realize that the gods in the south were just as susceptible to the lure of ambition and opportunity for vengeance. Not all of them, true. But enough. Viracocha watched in sadness as his own land fell into the chaos. People tried to escape the ensuing carnage and Viracocha begged Amana to take his people. And she, his dear beloved wife, opened her lands.

Amana, along with Tamusi and Tamula, used their power to modify the device that created their protected realm. The object was pressed far beyond its limits and required constant control by Amana and her sons to keep it running safely. They divided the day into three shifts and each took turns. And yet the refugees just kept coming and the device was strained further

Viracocha fought the other gods, trying to stem the chaos that was spreading. Two goddesses, Mama Killa and Pachamama, hated Viracocha. Long ago he'd banished them from his lands when he discovered them exploiting his people. These two brought forth giants and monsters to wreak havoc and to defeat Viracocha. He defeated them by releasing the waters of Lake Titicaca and causing the great flood Unu Pachakuti. But the waters had done great damage.

The Death of Amana


The refugees continued to pour into Amana's lands as she and her sons strained to keep the machinery running. Sadly, it had never been designed to protect so large an area over such a long period of time. The northern half of the entire continent had been shifted and contained inside a bubble, but that bubble was tenuous and fragile. Finally, it could stay stable no longer. It popped! The ensuing back-blast killed Amana, Tamusi, and Tamula in an instant, reverting those protected lands to normalcy.

Viracocha felt their deaths hundreds of leagues away and his heart died in that moment. He drew on the Power in rage and grief and threw all his might at those gods that had taken his family and spread death and destruction across the once beautiful and peaceful land. But, in doing so, even as he killed them, Viracocha drew too much of the power and burned himself out. The loss of the power, however, was as nothing compared to the devastation felt in his heart.

Dead inside, Viracocha found himself back in the small fishing village that had seen his birth. There he was killed by a man; a man who had lost his own family in the violence; a man who had been taught that one day the gods would begin to oppress the people; a man that believed it was time for men to defeat the gods. This man and others who followed that tradition, took advantage of the chaos. Soon the people were warring directly with the gods, and eventually, after decades and centuries, the gods were defeated.

Epilogue


Still, the memory of those gods remained. People passed on the stories and remembered their deeds. Yet, as with all stories that test the passing of time, details were changed and facts forgotten. Amana’s story spread from Venezuela to the Guyanas as her people moved out across the land. She became the eternal goddess of the rivers, thought by the Cariña Caribs to protect her people as she cooled the fearsome heat of the sun each night. It was said that her sons helped her with this task.

Many legends spread about Viracocha. Some credited him with the creation of mindless giants that displeased him. In these legends, he used the flood to rid the world of these beasts and start the world and life anew. He then sent his sons Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo to bring civilization to the rest of the world. In other stories, his sons were named Imahmana and Tocapo.

In the end, Viracocha was said to have walked across the waters, disappearing on the horizon the Great Ocean to he wander the earth disguised as a beggar, teaching his new creations civilization and working miracles. Some still believe that Viracocha will return in a time of trouble.


Edited by Ivan Sarkozy, Jun 23 2016, 09:46 AM.

Pain.

Pain flashed everywhere. Set - it had been Set. Osiris couldn't believe it even so. Osiris knew his brother's heart was dark, but he still didn't believe that Set could do this.

Pain - even as he breathed. Each breath hurt. Each breath brought exhaustion. Osiris didn't even try to use his magic. He knew he couldn't stop this. Maybe someone else could be he couldn't.

Osiris saw her. His Isis, always so beautiful. He wondered if she was really there or just a hallucination. His hand reached out to her, almost too weak to do so. And before she grabbed her hand, everything went black.

((Any Atharim is welcome to pop in. Regus and the Archangels probably need to make an appearance and Aria will be.))

Martin was going over reports in his office when his wallet buzzed with a new alert. He gave a silent sigh as he set down the paper and picked up the electronic device and flipped the screen to the alert. His eyes went wide as he watched the declaration of Apolyon. He should be dead, was the only thought running through his head.

And the minute the word Atharim slipped from the man's power-filled mouth Martin was sending an urgent text to the god-forsaken little whelp of a girl who was supposed to be killing the greatest power in the world. He smirked at the thought of her taking on Ascendancy himself. It was something he dreamed of nightly. Watching her boil and burn like the monster that she was only to die so he could use her to gain intel. Yes, that was his plan.

The text was simple Here! Now!

He didn't expect her to show up immediately. Martin had plenty of time to wait for the whelp and think about what he was going to say to her. He had a mission to plan, the paperwork on his desk was all but forgotten. He needed to decide the best course of action after sending the girl to her death.

Martin walked out of his office towards the armory. We have to have something that can do the job.

The West wing was part of a beautiful, restoreed Brownstone. What no one knew it had entrances to the labyrinth below and his own secret study down in the undercity. From the top a Well to do Captain of the "Storm Cloud", below just another lost soul.


Having moved the most promising of the scrimshaw up to his study he had them arranged in almost a perfect geological order. Synjyn had spent weeks arranging and rearranging the scrimshaw into to a story. Some pieces dated back before recorded history, a true written record not know to exist about the time before time.

Mumbling a few words could be made out: the women give chills to the men? Burning fever at the child's change, village destruction, young killed as witches, older worshiped, older dies suddenly, no trace,
The story tumbled on.

Stopping he lite a Cigar and poured a dram of stout whiskey. none of made sense. Some killed, some worshiped, some lived some died? His sister died and he lived, maybe it made more sense than he thought.

Some knew the answers but he was sure they knew not all. This is not new, it is old come new again!


Even tho he hadn't finished reading he started over. With note pad in hand he set off to add detail to his growing knowledge.


Edited by Manix, Aug 26 2016, 12:37 PM.

You give me more fodder now I love the idea.

I do have a question tho. I get the reincarnated gods have easy stories to start from, but what about our other's who aren't reincarnated gods? I don't believe all souls are reincarnated in the wheel of time, other wise there wouldn't be heroes of the horn necessarily.

Can our mundane non-gods do things like ancesters? ie: Aria's ancestors date back to the time of the god wars. Could I say write one of them?

Some big announcement was on the way from the Kremlin. The CCD owned media outlet was set up with as much pomp and circumstance as they did when news was last released about the procurement of a new Dominion. Some theorized such was the case now: Australia perhaps was rather inert and easy to sweep into CCD control; or maybe South America's volatile state was finally ripe for reaping.

The Ascendancy's symbol was everywhere; all the reporters were drowning in the orange and black glow. Whispers were thick as well. Nobody really speculated a Dominion was joining the Custody; however, something was happening.

"Good evening,"
the direct voice of the Ascendancy began, and all ears, here and around the globe, were tuned to listen.

"There has been speculation of late regarding the unusual phenomena we have observed for some time now. Reports began to intensify following the campaign in Dominance V. Afterward, similar scenarios were reported around the world on both the large and small scale. Most recently, a threat was positioned at Moscow itself in the form of a troubled young man seeking to gain our attention. He succeeded, although he lost his life to do so. Too many lives have been lost so far. Death is not something I covet for our enemies; I never have. It is time we take a more direct action to prevent further tragedies."


He paused to take a breath, but if he was unsteady, it was only to be seen by the passage of still seconds. The breath before the storm to be unleashed.

"Allegations of magic; of powers unseen by some and experienced most intimately by others; stories that defy science and logic. They are all true."

"There are young men and women among us with the capability to wield these powers. Some use them at will, others are oblivious to their connections and strike out blind and accidental. There are individuals with mal-intent and individuals pure of heart."

"The ramifications of this discovery are yet to be known; but the CCD is committed to understanding the dangers these individuals may pose and safe-guarding the population as needed."


The room, indeed the world, was frozen with shock. Less so that these rumors were true, but more that the government was admitting their truth. But for what was to come next, the earth was about to shake in comparison.

"These individuals are always young men and women; approximately thirty years or younger. They may be your neighbors, your friends, or your family. They are linked to the Sickness, and the Sickness linked to their genetics. Thus, it is believed the infection is not an infection at all, but rather a manifestation of these powers poisoning their system until it acclimates. Some individuals survive this process; others succumb."

"And I am one of them."
The bomb dropped. He met the eyes of those that stared back, unable to divert their gazes. Unable to do much at all but stare.

"I will take your questions."